Flashes of Black and White
by Bluebird Soaring
Summary: Various moments of the life and times of my favorite Autobots, Prowl and Jazz. My response to the PxJ community Halloween challenge. A mission gone terribly wrong, and now Prowl and Jazz get to spend quality time in a Con brig. More drabbles to come.
1. Thirteen

Thirteen seconds. That was all it took for a plan to go totally to the pit. One moment he, Prowl and Mirage were quietly infiltrating the Decepticon base and then the alarms blared all around them. Pounding boots, blazing weapons and screamed curses overwhelmed his finely tuned sensor array. He dampened it all down, trying to avoid the crash of his whole sensor net. A whimper of pain escaped his lips, and suddenly a calming hand touched his arm. He couldn't hear the words, but the concern blazed forth from startlingly blue eyes.

"I'm ok, Prowler," he replied, in spite of the reality that none of them were really ok at the moment. The screaming sounds died down to a more ominous silence.

"We need to make a strategic retreat. This mission is compromised and staying here will only result in unnecessary damage to our team and risk of capture. Back to the breach.." Prowl's commanding voice cut through the looming silence. They only had moments before the Cons overtook their position, and Jazz never looked forward to interrogation by Soundwave, who had been the target of their mission to begin with, and who was certainly at the center of their discovery.

"I will cover you both. Head out and I will follow shortly once the coast is clear," replied Mirage, blinking out of visual existence seconds later.

Without needing additional prompting, Prowl and Jazz wheeled around, rushing back the way they had come. Safety and their retraction team was only seconds away. But as Jazz knew too well, it only took seconds for even the best of Prowl's plans to be blown part by a lucky shot. And speaking of a lucky shot, he heard the whine of the weapon blast only moments before he saw Prowl's gate hitch and his pedes falter. Jazz whirled around, covering Prowl with return fire while trying to get a visual on his friend's damage. Prowl sunk down to his knees, drawing air frantically through his vents, dampening sensors around the damage to his sensor wings. Highly painful and distracting injury, but not inherently life threatening, at least in the short term and he knew Ratchet would be waiting for him on the transport back to the Ark.

When the weapons fire ceased, Jazz turned back to hoist Prowl up to his feet and carry him back home if necessary. Prowl tried to brush his hands away and reassure Jazz he was fine when one final shot pierced the hallway. He felt Jazz stiffen under his touch and collapse into his arms. Where was Mirage and his cover fire, Prowl's processor screamed. Jazz settled heavily, and before he could recover his own pedes more shots rung out. Prowl felt his own consciousness fade away as he contemplated how unlucky the number thirteen had turned out to be.


	2. Graveyards

Prowl did some of his best tactical planning while sitting in a graveyard.

In a way he had done the same while still on Cybertron. Planning battles was his life and core programming, and what better place to do it than on recent battlefields, often still covered with the deactivated shells of friends and foes. Others thought he was unfeeling to be able to walk with seeming disinterest through the dead. But for Prowl it was a reminder of what he was fighting for, feeling the pain of loss for each and every fallen Autobot, and some measure of pity for the fallen Decepticons. They were all Cybertronians, all fighting for a better future as seen through their own ideals. But those deactivated faceplates all staring up at him with darkened optics kept him focused and able to fight the next battle. At his core he hated the killing and eternal battles of Megatron's civil war. Even the fallen had to be stripped for parts rather than have traditional monuments built to entomb them. It was the final indignity to a war filled with indignities. There were no innocents left on their home world, and now the planet itself was a giant corpse floating in the vastness of space.

And now he was here on Earth, seated on a very alien grassy knoll, surrounded on all sides by simple stone reminders of those tiny organics who had come before. Humans were so different from his own kind and their lives only lasted moments compared to his, but they lived so vibrantly. Humans shone like a supernova with their zest for life, leaving Prowl feeling so old and empty in comparison. But he needed that reminder of what life felt like in its youth, before war stole the joy and passion that made things worth going on for another day. His kind was blessed and cursed by their long lives. Many simply faded away after eons of fighting, becoming literal ghosts. But these humans just attracted him with their life force, and by basking in their luminescence he felt his own spark being renewed.

And perhaps he wasn't the only one to experience this either. These days Jazz insisted in accompanying him to his graveyard planning sessions. Jazz admired the humans for many things, and happily stood by his friend even in the midst of their ghosts. It was the only time Jazz refrained from playing his music, those walks through the burial grounds of their allies. It was his sort of tribute, and neither put their feelings into words. They both saw how humans filled each moment to the brink with life and then let it all spill out into the lives of others. In the end, the humans needed them to survive the Cons, but the Autobots needed the humans to teach them how to really live.


	3. Treat

It was always such a treat to spend time in the Decepticon brig, Jazz thought bitterly. This is not what I was thinkin' when I told Ratch I needed a vacation! At least I've got company this time. But poor Prowler just isn't up to much talkin' right yet.

Technically, Prowl hadn't come online again since the initial ambush inside the Decepticon base, so his being chatty (which he was no Bluestreak even on the best of days) was the least of concerns to Jazz right now. But focusing on Prowl kept his processor off of less pleasant thoughts about his own injuries or what was going to happen next.

"Well, at least it looks like Raj made it out ok. I haven't seen or heard one peep outa him so I'm hopin' he split and headed back home. At least that was your plan if things went to pit on us, like they did," Jazz mused.

It was harder than he expected to keep up a one sided conversation. He wasn't use to Prowl saying much when they did talk, but he would at least look interested and nod occasionally to let Jazz know he was listening. Seeing his friend's slack frame lying on the rough floor was hard enough. If he let his processor focus on how much damage Prowl had taken to those doorwings of his, in addition to other blasts marring his normally pristine black and white paintjob, Jazz might lose what little resolve he still had control of. Jazz wasn't a bot that easily lost his cool under fire. But seeing his Prowler get shot down in front of him was something that got under his plating right quick.

And perhaps Prowl could hear his voice and it would help him online more quickly? Jazz knew from his own experiences of waking up in the Medbay to Prowl's soothing voice always made it a bit easier. Somehow Prowl had worked out a deal allowing him to stay with Jazz with so he was the exception to Ratchet's general "get out of the Medbay before I throw a slagging wrench at your head" policy. Prowler was good with rules like that.

Jazz heard Prowl shift as a low moan pierced the oppressive darkness of the brig. It sounded like Prowl was coming around finally.

"Can ya hear me, Prowler?" Jazz queried quietly.

"Jazz," the shaky voice replied quietly, "Are you badly hurt?"

Jazz had a hard time holding back a laugh at that. Here was Prowl, half slagged, asking if he was alright. "I'm fine. But how are you? You took quite a few hits back there tryin' to be all heroic!" Jazz was more amused than annoyed, but he hoped to get some sort of response out of his friend with his blunt tone.

"I'll live," came Prowl's tired reply. And Jazz prayed to Primus that was the truth.


	4. Fog

The fog of war influenced each of the Autobots differently, but none were immune to its creeping, devastating force. After eons of looking over one's shoulder, wondering if the next battle would be one's last, watching friends and fellow soldiers falling all around you, that fog closed in and could become overwhelming. As the leaders of Prime's forces, it was Prowl and Jazz who helped ensure the crew was of sound body and processor. Each had his own way of helping, and between the two of them everybot stayed as sane as could be expected.

Jazz acted as the unofficial morale officer, always flashing a contagious grin and playing his music extra loud to help lift the sparks of those near him. He always had time for a bot that just needed to talk or vent over a cube of high grade. He also helped the Twins and their pranks from time to time, much to the amusement and chagrin of Prime, Prowl, and most of all, Ratchet. He always faced each away mission with bravado and humor, downplaying its serious nature and promising everyone he would be back before they even started to miss him. But truth be told, the whole Ark held their collective breath until Jazz returned safe and sound.

Prowl, quite to the contrary, acted as the calm in the midst of the storm. He was a strong, unflappable presence in spite of whatever the Cons threw their way. The other bots implicitly trusted Prowl and his battle plans. They knew he tried his hardest to ensure they would all return to the safety of the base, and he never left a soldier behind. He also provided the rules and structure needed to keep everything running smoothly in the downtime. Bots could just as easily go stir crazy just lazing around the base. So he oversaw the mundane tasks, including the discipline of the twins when he caught them playing pranks. But what they didn't know was he always knew what they were up to in advance, but let them have their fun as a way to blow off steam.

And occasionally, both Prowl and Jazz would join forces in a more direct way when a fellow bot needed their combined comfort and strength. Many nights they would sit with a bot like Bluestreak, plagued with nightmares from the latest battle, unable to recharge. They would just sit with him, holding him between their frames and speaking to him in soft, encouraging tones until he finally drifted off. Then Prowl would flash Jazz one of his rare smiles, and Jazz would return it in kind.

And in the end, Prowl and Jazz kept each other alive. Prowl relished the vibrancy of Jazz's spark, and Jazz anchored in Prowl's strength. And together they were an unstoppable force in driving back whatever the war tried to throw at them.


	5. Spider Webs

Jazz onlined with a start. His remaining sensors pinged dully off the stone walls, confirming what he already knew with absolute certainty. He was still in the Decepticon Brig. He must have offlined again in the last session with the Cons. He loved pushing their buttons with his smart replies, egging them against each other and distracting them to no end from their objective of collecting intel from him. He also hoped they would take the brunt of their anger out on him, saving his badly damaged Prowl from punches and kicks and interrogation techniques which might easily be fatal. And speaking of Prowl…

Jazz turned his aching body over slowly, scraping sparks on the hard floor with a resounding screech. He stilled for a moment, fearing his movements might summon a guard for more Con fun, but the door remained firmly closed and he heard no foot steps in the hall outside. He continued rolling over to his other side, just until he caught glimpses of black and white plating in a space beyond his own shell. There was Prowl, Jazz signed with relief to see his friend back in the cell and seemingly no worse for wear. Not that he had much plating left undamaged or energon left undrained, but he was still intact and the low humming from his systems told Jazz he remained in the world of the online.

Unfortunately, Jazz also could see Prowl's body was currently strewn face first in a puddle of some dark liquid, possibly his own spilled energon or something worse. And the foul liquid was seeping into his intakes and gurgling around his mouth plates. His primary fan had taken on a harsh rattling sound from the harmful liquids, prompting Jazz into action. He knew Prowl needed whatever recharge he could get for his self repair systems to do their work. But continuing to breathe in those contaminated liquids was doing more harm than the recharge was doing good. And besides, another spider had built spider's webs between Prowl's injured doorwings, and he couldn't allow that indignity to stand either.

Jazz briefly puzzled as to how a tiny organic spider found itself living happily on the underwater Con base, but then let the train of thought side away with a dark chuckle. If Prowl's sensors had been working, having a spider's web on his doorwings would be driving him crazy. Even now, if he onlined to find such a web it might crash his logic circuits, which he really didn't need to deal with on top of everything else right now!

In the end, Jazz gently reached up, snagged both spider and web, and relocated them to another place in the brig. Then he reached over and shook Prowl, calling his name softly.

"Come on Prowler, you gotta get up! You're getting' all sorts of gunk in your intakes, and Ratch is gonna chase ya with a wrench for that for sure!" Jazz grew more concerned as neither his words nor actions roused the other mech.

Well, it looks like I gotta do this for ya, Jazz thought. He hoisted himself to a sitting position near a wall, and drug Prowl's helm into his own lap. This allowed them both to recharge and kept Prowl out of the puddle. And since they were now leaning against the wall farthest from the spider's last know location, he hoped it would keep Prowl web free for a bit longer. And with that Jazz offlined his optics and felt his processor drift away.


	6. Trick

Much, much later, Prowl onlined his optics and realized he felt better than he had in ages. He coughed a bit, clearing his intakes and spiting up bitter tasting liquid. Oh, he thought, that's why I'm feeling so relaxed. I'm laying on Jazz, and he's a vast improvement from the cold, hard floor. Jazz was self-sacrificing like that! Yes, the mech himself was not that much better off than Prowl, but Jazz was always looking out for the other mechs before his own needs. Prowl let himself rest a few more moments against Jazz's smooth, warm plating before pulling himself up painfully on his hands and leaning heavily against the wall. He had heard footsteps approaching down the hall, and if their guards found them in what appeared to be a compromising position (it wasn't everyday that officers slept in each other's laps, even to survive) it could make things that much worse for them both. He could imagine all sorts of cruel games the guards or Megatron might play to pit one against the other if they believed the two of them were somehow involved.

In a voice hardly above a whisper, Prowl spoke into Jazz's audial horn "Thank you, Jazz, for looking out for me. We always have each others back, do we not? So recharge well, my friend. I'll try to keep the Cons busy for a while so you can rest and repair. Don't forget the trick I taught you."

Jazz seemed to hear him, nodding absently in his recharge and moving minutely closer to Prowl's voice. Prowl touched Jazz soothingly on the arm before he shifted further away down the wall. He couldn't get too far as his legs were both mangled. But he shimmied himself sideways toward the door, making lots of noise, trying to draw attention from the quickly approaching guard.

The door swung wide, and another nameless Decepticon drone stood silhouetted against the harsh outer light. The cell itself was cast even deeper into its gloom of twilight. Prowl hoisted his doorwings higher, taking on an air of boredom and superiority.

"So, is Megatron too afraid to face his prisoners that he sends a mere drone in his place? Tell him I'm less than impressed, and his treatment of us is in violation with Treaty…"

Prowl's bating of the Con broke off suddenly as a harsh blow impacted the side of his helm. Points of light spun in his optics, and he fought to keep what little energon he had consumed safely down in his tanks in spite of the nausea the blow caused. Well, it looked like he had the full attention of the guard. Jazz stirred slightly at his side, reacting to the light from the hall and the horrible clang of Prowl's body near his audio.

"Well, we do not want to keep Megatron waiting. I highly doubt he wants grunts like you damaging his prisoners. We are much more valuable to him alive, and I should not have to be the one telling you. Take me to him now!" Prowl had always been almost as good as Jazz at bluffing his way through when needed. Jazz would have been impressed if he had been conscious. Hopefully he had bought Jazz a bit more time…

The Con leaned down to grab Prowl's backplating, dragging him out of the cell and down the hall. He was mentally preparing himself for whatever his next session with the Cons would bring. He had to stay sharp and ahead of the Cons and their plans. Both he and Jazz were getting out of here alive, and he would use every trick in his book to ensure their best odds of survival. After all, he was a tactician, and tactics were always a mix of logic and luck, making Prowl a natural when it came to tricks. And their lives depended on his upcoming performance. With that thought he stared resolutely down the hall.


	7. Orange

Jazz was sick down to his spark of the color purple. Purple walls, purple floors and purple doors. Purple mechs and their fraggin purple sigils. If he thought about purple for one more second he was going to meltdown his processor and offline! This was what naturally happened when he was left, alone, for a long time, staring at too much purple through the murky twilight. Slag, where was Prowl when he needed him!

He was quickly losing his grip on reality, and Jazz knew it too. He was flashing back to previous detentions by the Decepticons, times when he was left broken and leaking for his comrades to find. And Prowl was always the one who lead those rescues, who ensured he made it back to the Ark still functional, or who got Ratchet to his location before he bled out. Had Prowl forgotten him? Had Prowl abandoned him, perhaps escaped the base and left him behind?

Horrible traitorous thoughts started to overwhelm his confused processor. He covered his visor with his hands, trying to block out that hideous purple color and the doubts it brought to mind. He couldn't stand the thought of having been abandoned, alone. He was losing the one thing he needed more than anything else if he wanted to survive. He was losing hope. Prowl was his hope. Where was Prowl?

Suddenly a loud rending of metal broke the silence and cut through the doubts and confusion clouding Jazz's mind. Some mech opened the door to his cell bathing the space in a sickly yellow-orange glow, and another black and white clad body was harshly tossed back in to land as a shaking heap on the floor. Then the door slammed closed, and the orange light flashed back to almost black.

"Jazz," Prowl's voice pulled Jazz the rest of the way back to reality. "Jazz, say something!"

"Prowler, is that you?" Jazz didn't really believe his own optics at this point. He knew it could just be a Con trick or something like that. He needed to know for sure.

"Yes, it's me Jazz. I'm here." Prowl stretched out a shaking hand and Jazz grasped it tightly. All his doubts broke with that simple gesture. His hope had returned. He was so relieved he fell speechless.

" I would never leave without you, if I could help it." Prowl continued, giving Jazz a weary half smile, flashing his optics to half power in sort of an odd human like wink before dimming them back down. "We are in this together. I am concerned, however, as Soundwave has been called in for our next round of questioning. I don't know…"

Jazz cut him off quickly " Come on, Prowler. I was havin' a bit of a panic, but it's ok if you're ok. I know you're good. Soundwave don't stand a chance against ya. I trust ya. I knew you'd never leave me, not really."

"Do not lose hope, Jazz. Prime and the others will find us. We must stay strong for them." And for each other, he thought, but he didn't need to say that out loud.

He pulled Jazz toward him into an awkward one handed embrace, and suddenly those purple walls just melted away and Jazz felt himself relax in the safety of Prowl's arms.


	8. Crescent Moon

Prowl knew too well what terrible thoughts came to mind for Jazz in closed dark places. He had read all of those reports, but never had experienced it while on a mission with Jazz. His friend had looked crazed when he returned to their cell, and that worried Prowl.

It reminded him too much of a mostly offline mech he had retrieved in the early days of the war. Granted, that mech had been a civilian caught in the crossfire of a Decepticon attack on his city, but that expression held the same look of hopeless anguish.

It had been a beautiful night on Cybertron. A perfect night, when the double crescent moons of their planet softly gleamed golden blue in a sky filled with diamond stars. Too perfect a night for the Cons to attack their fellow bots. Some had thought the brightness of the moons might be enough to discourage such an attack strategically. Either way, it seemed like the last night their enemy would have selected to attack a neutral city. And somehow the impossibility of such an attack only added to the horror and autricity.

Scores upon scores of midnight black flying machines rained burning fire on town and mech alike. Fuel depot explosions woke mechs from their recharge, driving them into the streets in fear, only to be mowed down by more crossfire and plasma bombs. Buildings crumbled all around, burying helpless mechs under their smoking ruins. And then things got worse.

Prowl and his response team had landed in the area after everything had fallen into a deadly calm. No living bots could be seen, and even the attacking Cons had vanished into the night sky. Prowl knew they were too late. Their forces had been stationed near the border of Con territory, and even his own tactical processor had not predicted such a bold attack so far inside Autobot held ground. And the citizens of this neutral city had paid for his miscalculation with their very sparks. Prowl was immobilized by the horror of it all.

Ironically, Jazz had been the one bot on his team not overwhelmed nor shocked by the carnage around him. Jazz had been spying on the Decepticons even before the formal declaration of war, and he had seen with his own optics what those bots could do to even their own faction, not to mention other bots who got in the way of their plans for conquest. Jazz simply shook his helm sadly as he surveyed the burning cityscape. "I don't think we've got any fightin' left to do. Let's look for survivors. We might get lucky and find a few for a change." Jazz was always bluntly honest, but such words helped wake up his fellow bots to the real task at hand. Recovery of the fallen, assistance of survivors, and helping rebuild the city if it could be salvaged.

"You are right, of course." Prowl stated simply. " Spread out and check for pockets of survivors. Contact Jazz or I if any are found as they will need full triage by Ratchet. Dismissed"

Prowl and Jazz searched in silence, quadrant by quadrant revealing nothing but broken shells and offlined optics. Prowl's spark felt heavy, and he was almost glad when they turned back to meet up with the rest of his team and hadn't found any survivors. How could a bot live through such an experience and still be sane? It was more merciful that they all fell without suffering, Prowl thought. And just then he heard the sound of movement nearby.

Prowl froze, spreading his doorwings high and sensors wide, trying to hone in on the sound. Perhaps it was just a piece of debris shifting as it cooled? The lunar winds were kicking up, so it was possible things were shifting. But then he heard it again, and by the shocked look on Jazz's face, he had heard it too.

Breaking into a full run, the pair of black and whites tore across the broken ground toward the sensor ghost. Prowl commed the others as they ran, requesting they all converge on the signal in case it was an injured Con or perhaps an unexploded piece of ordinance. As it turned out, neither was the case. It was still a very explosive situation nonetheless.

Under the sheets of metal and piles of debris, a small grey mech was unearthed. He shook uncontrollably from helm to ped, and his once proud doorwings simply hung limply down his back, scraping and sparking against a piece of mental. He was beyond terrified. Jazz had approached him first, speaking softly and crouching down to seem as unthreatening as possible. Prowl followed next, assuring the young mech they were here to help him. The grey mech had only continued to shake and look at Prowl with those hopeless optics. Prowl had simply reached down to offer the mech a hand up, and with surprising speed the younger mech had latched both hands around Prowl's neck in a death grip. Jazz had just smiled at Prowl, and helped support the young mech during their walk back to the transport. Prowl kept speaking with his calm, strong voice, reassuring the young mech he was safe. And when they finally release him to Ratchet and the medics, the grey mech's eyes had regained a bit of hope.

It had taken many, many years for that mech to recover, but anyone who met Bluestreak today would think he was the most hopeful mech in the whole Autobot faction. Jazz always credited Prowl as the cause for Bluestreak's recovery and regained hope. Prowl admitted he had been part of it, as much as Jazz for that matter. But, more importantly to Prowl, Blue was a source of his own hope. That a mech could suffer so profoundly and still thrive afterward always encouraged Prowl. And at this moment, as he watched Jazz's hopeless gaze fade into grey as he entered recharge, he needed that hope all the more.


End file.
